Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09D9NTZ5MR1QRTK8NPP0PF

Molly adjusted the brim of her pilot’s cap and squinted at the roller-skating rink where a birthday party was in full swing. Confetti swirled like hurricane debris around kids zigzagging between tables topped with blue and orange streamers. A clown the size of a small cottage juggled rubber chickens near the dessert station, where a tower of cupcakes wobbled perilously. Bill crouched behind a potted palm, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. He clutched a canvas tote bag emblazoned with a cartoon puppy—stolen from a different party last month. “You’re certain the presents are in the green room?” Molly didn’t look away from a gaggle of party guests pelting each other with shaving cream. “Kid said the ‘cool down’ area. Also known as the place where tempers go to boil over.” Bill scrubbed his face with a shaky hand. “And the parents?” “Two apiece. Dad’s wearing cargo pants and a Bluetooth earpiece pretending to be useful. Mom’s dabbing lip gloss between emergency caesareans.” A kid in a Buzz Lightyear helmet barrelled past, knocking Bill’s elbow. His tote bag tipped, revealing half a cake from the snack table. Frosting dripped onto his sock. “Tactical genius,” Molly deadpanned. “You’ve gone full undercover as dessert.” Bill wiped his sock against the palm bark. “We’re not hurting anyone. Those presents are surplus. Probably tax-deductible. Symbiotic, even.” Molly pulled a lollipop from her pocket and peeled the wrapper slowly, like a surgeon prepping for a heart transplant. “Bill, the dad owns an insurance company. Every single toy in that green room is marked up fifty percent because ‘it’s for charity.’ Charity to him means a third yacht, not a diabetic coma.” A high-pitched scream echoed from the center of the rink—someone had been hurled into a piñata by a particularly ambitious skater. Bill flinched. “Still think we’re Robin Hoods?” Molly tossed the lollipop into the air and caught it between her teeth. “I think we’re professionals who misunderstand supply chains.” She nodded toward the hallway where a green balloon floated just above a doorframe. “That’s our portal to glamour. You take the left hallway. I’ll take the right. We reconvene in ninety seconds with whatever isn’t nailed down.” Bill hesitated outside the restroom where someone had painted “Potty Superhero” above the sink. “What if the balloon’s a decoy?” Molly sighed. “Then we die for a helium prank. But I saw the gift list on the fridge. That PlayStation’s mine.” Inside the green room, chaos reigned. Wrapped boxes stacked like landfills. A boy in a dinosaur costume sobbed over a torn gift bag. Molly strode past him, snagging a Nerf blaster off a shelf as she whispered into her palm mic, “Bill, status report.” “Found the gold,” his voice crackled through her earpiece, strained. “But I’m surrounded by clowns.” Molly peeked around a mountain of gift wrap and burst into laughter. Bill stood ankle-deep in confetti, clutching an armful of action figures while two of the piñata’s papier-mâché dinosaurs menaced him from either side like security guards. “Bill,” she wheezed, “the clowns are papier-mâché.” He blinked at them. “I called them clowns. They look like clowns.” “They’re party decorations!” He swallowed hard, adjusted his grip. “Still scary.” Molly yanked a rolling chair across the room and placed it beside him. “Climb. We jump the counter on three.” Bill stepped onto the seat. “One… two…” From the hallway, a voice called, “I know you’re in there!” Dad stamped in, phone extended. “Sir, put the toys down.” Bill froze halfway up. “Oh, that’s Todd. Blogger. He makes unsolicited guest lists.” Molly grabbed Bill’s wrist. “Jump now or spend our earnings on bail.” They somersaulted over the counter, landing in a heap atop a pile of gift-wrapped disasters. Todd lunged, but Molly flung a handful of glitter into his face. He yelped, blinked furiously. “I can’t see! Who’s throwing glitter at me?” Bill stood, brushing tinsel from his sleeves. “You touched the prizes. That’s against code.” Molly tossed the tote bag at him. “Run.”